Bombshell
by LlamaCatastrophe
Summary: Mark and Roger go through boxes after Benny returns their belongings to the loft. Mark/Roger


Roger grunted and cursed as he lugged the heavy card board box into the open space of the loft

Disclaimer: I do not own Rent or any characters portrayed in this story. It is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. All rights belong to Jonathan Larson.

_**Bombshell**_

Roger grunts and curses as he lugs the heavy card board box into the open space of the loft. He drops it as gently as he can onto the hard wood floor and sighs with relief when nothing breaks. Roger then shoots Mark a glare as the film maker busies himself with unpacking dishes and cups.

The bohemian family had come back to the loft on New Years day, only to find it padlocked and chained. Angel's Eagle Scout training and obsession with spy movies came in handy, as the diva was able to break the lock with a barrel.

It did not take long before the unlikely friends of Avenue B realized that the entire building had been cleared out. Leaving them as squatters with no possessions to start off the new year.

A week later, Benny had all the belongings moved back into Mimi's apartment, as well as Mark and Roger's loft. Everything was boxed, not a single thing had been thrown away. And that only aided Mark and Roger into acknowledging just how much useless garbage they had.

"Care to explain why you get to unload plates, while I drag your heavy shit out of cramped corners?" Roger questions, taking heavy breaths as he opens an unmarked box.

"Because you are a klutz, and can not be trusted with glassware." Mark states, placing mugs delicately on hangers above the sink. He looks down at the stainless steel sink and frowns, scratching at a reddish crust that is by the drain. "Is it even possible for stainless steel to rust?" he asks, but is ignored as Roger rambled on.

"Hey! I resemble that remark," Roger says defensively.

"Resent."

"Huh?"

"You _resent_ that remark. Saying you resemble it just means you are a klutz and I'm right."

"But your not right."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not. I'll prove it!" Roger says, stomping over to where Mark stands at the sink.

Mark flicks what he believes to be rust out from under his nail, as Roger picks up a big black mug. Roger places it on a cup hanger beside the one Mark had hung a moment ago. He puts it on the hook gently and then backs away.

Mark shakes his head as Roger makes a show of his victory by placing his hands on his hips. Roger puffs his chest out and sticks his nose in the air, doing his best impression of a super hero.

Mark makes his way over to the box Roger had drug out into the open and peers inside at its contents. A cassette player, reels of film, a high school year book, and a large photo album are all he can see on top.

Roger wrinkles his eyebrows and cocks his head, curious to see what is in the box as well. He comes to Mark's side and reaches into the box, ignoring Mark's protests.

"Be careful with that!" Mark cries, as Roger roughly thumbs through his photo album. The pages creak as he peels them apart, and Mark has given up on trying to stop him. Mark cringes and hopes his child hood memories will survive Roger's man handling.

"This book is massive. Ha! Look at you with your little red rain boots." Roger teases, pointing and laughing at Mark for good measure.

"Oh come on! I was, like…seven, I can not be held responsible for my wardrobe then."

Roger gives up on the photo album and places it to the side of the box. Mark and Roger's eyes lock as they both set their sights on the same thing.

What can only be described as a cat fight ensues, as the two men begin batting at each other's hands viciously. Both of them are vying for the same object as they laugh and curse at one another.

Roger wins, delivering the final blow by using his arm to slap both of Mark's hands up simultaneously. Roger uses his free arm to snake his grasp into the box. The arm returns and is raised high above Roger's head, clutching Mark's year book tightly.

Mark sighs and sits down next to the box, folding his legs under him as he pouts.

"Aw, you're supposed to jump for it, Mark!" Roger whines playfully, waving the year book in the air.

"I am way to short to even attempt jumping that high. Besides, you'd just do something childish, like switch hands even if I did get close."

Roger sighs and shakes his head, lowering the book to his chest. "No fair!" he says, as he begins thumbing through the year book, examining the pages for incriminating pictures. "You were in the chess club?"

Mark nods and drops his head into his hands. "Yea, my mom made me join. She said colleges would like me more. Fun thing being…I could never even play checkers right."

Roger chuckles. "No jew club, huh? Well at least they don't have the V club pictures in here, cause then I would have to tack your picture on the wall. Man, you would never live that one down!"

Mark shakes his head and waits patiently for the pages to stop turning. "I was not in the V club, Roger. I told you that a million times. Believe it or not, I actually got laid during high school."

"Sure ya did, kiddo." Roger laughs and Mark sighs in frustration. "Whoa," Roger says suddenly, stopping on a page of interest. "Who the shit is this?"

Roger lowers the book and Mark lifts his head to see it better. A picture of a young Mark dressed in a black suit and tie with his arm around a tall blonde is the picture in question.

"Oh, that's from my prom. It's Nannette Himalfarb."

"The rabbi's daughter?"

"The very one."

"So you mean to tell me, you dated this?" Roger asks in shock that a geeky high school Mark could in fact have a hot blonde girlfriend.

Mark nods and looks questioningly at Roger. "Yes, what's the issue?"

"She's smokin'. Hour glass figure, huge boobs, they look like they are a D easy,"

"Double actually."

"No shit? Not to mention those full red lips. Shit, what I wouldn't give to see those wrapped around my-"

"Can we not have this conversation?" Mark interrupts loudly, having no desire to hear the end of Roger's sentence.

"What? You telling me you never slept with her?"

"No, I just don't want to hear about what you would do to her if you did."

"But…she's a bombshell! I never even got groupies this hot, and here you are passing up the perfect chance to have a sex story to out do all of mine. What the hell did she see in you?" Roger asks in wonder, continuing to stare at the picture of Nannette in her V neck spaghetti strapped purple dress.

"Is it at all possible to believe that I'm a nice guy?" Mark asked in exasperation. "Why does there have to be some other reason?"

"Because you're Mark. You're not supposed to sleep with really hot girls, it's just…I dunno, not in your genetic make up or something. Unless…" Roger lowers the book and stares at Mark.

"What?" Mark asks nervously, his eyes darting around the room.

"How big is it?" Roger asks, his eyes set on the crotch of Mark's pants.

"Huh?" Mark follows Roger's stare and his eyes widen in understanding. He cups his hands over his crotch and jumps to his feet swiftly. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Roger begins advancing on Mark as the film maker takes cautious steps backwards. The book is abandoned as Roger drops it onto the top of a tall wardrobe box.

"It's the only logical explanation." Roger says his voice firm and unwavering.

"What is?" Mark asks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously,

"You must have a huge," Roger is cut off by Mark's outburst.

"I don't! I mean, I do, but not like, I mean," Mark struggles to find the words as Roger's eyes grow dark with determination. Mark successfully backs himself into a corner and his wild eyes search for an escape.

Roger stands a foot away from Mark and leans against the wall. He places a hand to the side of Mark's head and stares into the scared blue eyes of his friend.

"That's it. Either you pull it out, or I'll make you."

"Roger, this is ridiculous."

"You could answer me, that works too. Just tell me how big your package is and we'll call this even."

"No, I am not going to tell or show you anything!" Mark says defiantly, his hands still covering his crotch.

In a blur of motion, Roger grabs Mark's arms and pins them above his head. Mark makes a noise of protest, but freezes when he sees Roger leering at his body. Both men breath heavily, and Mark swallows hard as his erection is no longer concealed.

Mark's light blue eyes search Roger's heated green ones, trying to find the punch line that he is sure looms in the air. Only there is none to be found.

Roger moves his hand so that only one holds Mark's wrist above his head, while the other drifts down to his pointed hip. Roger pushes up Mark's burgundy sweater, revealing his pale torso before letting his hand rest on Mark's belt.

The stare down continues as Mark's breath hitches in his throat. He should tell Roger to stop, he should try to get away, but he can not make himself do it. Mark bites his lip as Roger pulls at the leather strap, making it unhook and loosen.

Roger moves forward, his eyes trained on Mark's lips which are swollen from his worrying at it. He undoes the button of Mark's jeans with one hand, as his other hand brushes against Mark's open palms.

Roger swallows as he unzips Mark's jeans slowly, waiting for his friend to tell him to stop. But no such protest comes. Instead, Mark's eyes grow as dark as Roger's and the confusing desire that Roger feels is just as evident in Mark's eyes.

Mark's breathing becomes erratic as Roger's fingertip brushes against the hardness through his jeans. Mark arches his hips towards Roger, and connects with Roger's own straining erection, causing them both to gasp.

Roger grinds himself into Mark and growls low in his throat. A sheen of sweat coats Roger's forehead as Roger places a knee between Mark's shaking legs.

Roger's lips barely brush against Mark's when a loud crash, followed by the sound of breaking glass, startles them. They both look towards the sink, where a shattered black mug lays in pieces along the counter top and floor.

Their heads snap forward and as they face each other panic and desire fill their faces. Panic wins out as both men leap apart from each other.

"I should go clean that," Mark says hurriedly.

"It's my fault, that's the one I put up there." Roger offers weakly, not meeting Mark's eyes.

"No, you may cut yourself. Not worth the risk." Mark's voice shakes and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Roger nods. He makes his way to the sink and begins picking up the bigger pieces of glass.

"Yea…umm, I'm gonna go take a shower." Roger says, grabbing the back of his neck and squeezing it roughly.

Mark nods and is grateful for the counter that is hiding the hardness in his jeans. "Save some hot water," Mark asks, making an effort to keep his voice even.

"I won't be using any." Roger says, before the bathroom door clicks shut behind him.

Once Mark hears the water flowing and the pipes begin to creak, he stops momentarily in his clean up.

"I'm so fucked." Mark sighs, as he tries to rationalize what happened between him and Roger. He gives up quickly, wondering what will happen next.

If they just pulled the pin, what will be like when the grenade goes off?

THE END

a/n: Please read and review. It's greatly appreciated. For any of you currently reading Bonding Stones, I will be continuing the story. I know it's been awhile, but I lost some direction on it and did not want to continue until I had the ideas laid out better. Thanks for reading!


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